


A Window to the Past

by Iyatiku



Series: The Wreck of Our Hearts [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, M/M, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 07:07:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23967373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iyatiku/pseuds/Iyatiku
Summary: "It had taken a decade but he had resigned himself to the fact that some wounds went too deep to ever heal properly...The issue came then, when at just past thirty, he ran into eleven-year-old Harry Potter entering Ollivanders wand shop on Diagon Alley."
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: The Wreck of Our Hearts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1727965
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	A Window to the Past

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently there was more of this Wolfstar nonsense in me than I previously measured, rip to my poor, fragile soul. 
> 
> It also happens to be 22 years to the day since The Battle of Hogwarts so I'll dedicate this to the man himself - Remus Lupin reminds me too much of myself and this is the only way I seem to be able to express that fact. So. Have at it.

Remus had built himself out of full moons and mischief. Not intentionally, of course; by the time he turned 11 he had scratched a template of self-hatred in scars right across his body. The last thing he needed was a ripe helping of risk but falling into friendship with two of the most infamous troublemakers Hogwarts had ever seen had come with its rewards too.

For one, he had become very good at passing unseen, which with his condition had become a skill in higher demand than almost any other. He’d also perfected the ability to lie impeccably, to twist events in his favour, and to always come off looking the best in any given situation. The odds were always going to be stacked again him, and since that night in the alleyway, he had been sure to make use of every weapon in his arsenal. It had taken a decade but he had resigned himself to the fact that some wounds went too deep to ever heal properly – one being his lenience towards misdemeanor - so he had stopped trying. He pulled out the full moons and the mischief and forgot completely that either had come as a gift.

The issue came then, when at just past thirty, he ran into eleven-year-old Harry Potter entering Ollivanders wand shop on Diagon Alley.

There was a second, perhaps less than that, where the quality of the light seemed to change, and the edge of his sight was inked with blackness. There was no moment of doubt, not a single blink of confusion, only a desperate yank somewhere in the middle of his chest that felt like a cough and a punch all at once. His hand shot out to brace his body against the building beside him, eliciting a grumpy huff from a witch who had been about to pass him on the inside of the street. He took no notice, watching only as Harry James Potter disappeared through the doorway.

It was as though he had just woken the morning following a full moon, like his body felt too big for him to carry, too baggy upon his bones. The gaggle of teenagers laughing raucously as they passed seemed to take no notice of the thin, greying man pressed against the wall next to the shop’s bay window. His mind fought against the impulse to rush through the door after them, but rationally, he knew there would be no good in that. It wasn’t as though Hagrid were a stranger to him, and if his memory served well, the half giant had a perchance for letting things slip that he ought not to. With a glance at his watch (of the muggle kind, a gift from his mother, with the visible cogs and little date next to the number 9) he realised with a jolt that Harry must be turning 11 today.

11 years since Sirius had pulled up outside his flat on that brand-new bike of his and yelled at his open window until he’d come hurtling out, half-dressed, beaming with excitement.

Another yank, somehow more painful than the last, sent his head spinning into a frenzy while his brain began to torture his memory into submission, white splotches appearing as quickly as the images themselves. The splotches didn’t mask the sound though, the rumble of the engine and Sirius’ laugh, how Remus had stood in the Potter’s bedroom doorway and watched as Sirius tip-toed over to his soon to be Godson while James and Lily chuckled at his uncharacteristic bashfulness in the face of their child. When he finally let in to the images too, they were strangely blurred around the edges; vignettes around the form of Sirius.

He’d really been the only person in a room Remus ever saw.

He clenched his eyes shut and shook his head, scattering the images like a handful of rice, only to find himself breathing heavily as his fingers dug painfully into the brick behind him. It took a great deal of strength to force himself straight again, by which point he realised he must have been stood there frozen for much longer than it had seemed, for Harry and Hagrid were emerging back onto the cobblestones already. He swung his body around so as not to catch Hagrid’s gaze, waiting almost a minute before turning back. He was alarmed to see they had stopped again, this time outside Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour.

He watched as Hagrid fiddled with something in Harry’s hand and then to his surprise, patted him heavily on the shoulder and walked off, leaving Harry to look around nervously in search of a seat. Remus looked up and down the alley, astonished at Hagrid’s irresponsibility. Harry Potter, alone in the middle of Diagon Alley? Before he knew it, he was halfway across the alley towards him, but something stopped him in his tracks: a buzz somewhere at the back of his skull he was all too familiar with, and yet somehow estranged from.

Perhaps because when he was alone, he didn’t _need_ to block it out so much. This feeling of reluctance to engage with his…well… _friends,_ manifested most often as a cool, soothing voice, reminding him almost daily of his own shortcomings. Except now, faced with someone familiar, with untidy black hair and a look of potential lankiness about him, the voice expressed itself in a muffled, crackling version of itself. It had taken several years of admonishment from the Marauders to dim that voice of self-hatred, to condemn it to a suppressed buzz, and Sirius-

No, he wouldn’t think about Sirius.

The buzzing was much less defiant than the voice in the face of his impulse to gallantry. Harry was now speaking to Florean himself, who was looking composed enough despite his shuffling eagerness to take his order. Remus continued his approach and, careful not to draw too much attention to himself, slid into a seat beneath an umbrella just behind Harry who was now looking down into his hand at a pile of gold and silver coins. Remus watched him counting them onto the table, eventually scooping them back into his hand and then counting them again. Florean appeared around the doorway and placed a knickerbocker looking sundae in front of him, “Here you are Mr Potter.”

“Here, allow me.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, while his hands fumbled for his own money. Both of their head snapped around, but then Mr Fortescue began to wave his hands.

“Oh no, this one is on the house, Mr Potter’s first time in Diagon Alley didn’t you know.”

“Oh, well…” Harry tried to flatten the patch of hair at the back of his head that didn’t seem to want to lay flat. Remus’ hands stilled at the movement, so achingly familiar that he forgot what he’d been fumbling for. Harry was looking back at him with an embarrassed look on his face, eyes flitting down to the rather flat money bag in Remus’ hands.

“Uhm...” He mumbled, but then Harry’s eyes lit up and he turned back to Florean with a smile on his face.

“Mr Fortescue I’d like to buy this man any ice cream he would like.”

“Oh, no, I-“

“Please, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, I’ve just never been able to buy anyone Ice Cream before.”

Remus’ heart sank. He had been half-hoping Harry would be nothing like his father so he could blink and be gone again in an instant, forgetting the encounter had ever happened. After opening and closing his mouth a couple of times he sighed, and nodded in Harry’s direction, “Then I’ll have three scoops of your best chocolate Ice cream please Mr Fortescue.”

“Certainly.” Florean made a small bow looking somewhat puzzled and re-entered his parlour.

“You’re very kind you know.” Remus said once he was out of sight, but Harry’s concentration was back on his coins again. “Everything alright there?”

Harry chewed his lips for a second, “My friend Hagrid left me here so I could try using some of this money without help but I…I’m not sure I quite understand it yet…”

Remus may have felt the corner of his lip twitch as he shuffled his chair a little closer, looking over Harry’s shoulder. “How much is a scoop?”

“Six sickles.” Harry stated, peering at the window behind him. “So that’s…eighteen sickles, or…”

“One Galleon,” Remus explained, reaching over and plucking one from his hand before placing it on the table, “and, let’s see, one sickle.” He placed the slightly smaller silver coin next to it. Harry looked like he had been working out a terribly difficult maths question.

“So, it’s seventeen sickles to a Galleon.” He nodded, pouring the rest of his coins back into his moneybag. “Hagrid told me all of this earlier, but I forgot as soon as he said it.”

“It can be difficult learning all of this from scratch,” he waved to the general area, “My mother was a muggle and she still had my father do the shopping when I was a child.”

Harry let out a quiet laugh, just as Florean reappeared with Remus’s ice cream. Harry handed over the money and then he made another small bow and moved towards the newer customers seating themselves around them.

“Well you’d better dig in, before it melts.” He picked up his spoon and pointed at Harry’s Ice Cream.

“Oh, yeah.” Harry picked up his own and took a large bite. Remus’ first spoonful was rather smaller but the rich, sharp taste was enough to make his eyes flutter closed. Such indulgence was far beyond his means, and as the ice cream melted on his tongue, the flavour began to mingle with another foreign taste; joy, accompanied by disbelief - to be sat here eating Ice cream beside Harry Potter, bought with none other than James’ gold…

The ice cream turned sour in his mouth. This was wrong, he shouldn’t have accepted this, he was lying to the boy’s face, feigning the innocent stranger. He watched Harry all but inhale the rest of his sundae with an itching in his gut. He’d barely managed a few spoonfuls himself. As Harry placed his spoon down on the table, Remus picked up his own Ice cream and placed it in front of Harry, “Why don’t you finish this? it’s too rich for me.”

Harry’s face lit up, “Really? Are you sure?” Remus smiled and nodded, pulling his cloak a little tighter around himself. “Thank you!” Harry exclaimed, picking up his spoon again. He paused halfway to his mouth and then after a second’s thought, dumped the ice cream back into the little bowl and placed his spoon down again, “I’ve never had this much Ice Cream before, I probably shouldn’t eat so much.”

Remus frowned, uneasiness creeping up on him as he began to take better notice of Harry’s untidy appearance. His clothes seemed to be hanging off him and his glasses were being held together in the middle by a large volume of tape. A picture began to build itself in his mind’s eye, everything Lily had said about Petunia’s distaste for the magical world, her lack of presence at each of the Potters’ gatherings…but surely this would not have affected her treatment of Harry? He was an innocent child after all.

An innocent child he himself had been neglecting for the past ten years.

The recognizable prickling of shame began to remerge over his skin, and he sat back in his seat, eager for Harry to discount his presence and continue with his day. Here he was again, playing the hero, as if he knew anything about what that meant, cowardly and gutless as he was. Had he done anything in the weeks, months, years, since this boy had become an orphan to continue his parents’ legacy, to look out for their son? He was about to rise from his seat and bid his farewell, sink into the pit of sick guilt in his stomach when Harry spoke again:

“They’ll probably think I’m stupid at Hogwarts for not knowing this stuff.” He had said it under his breath, but Remus knew the tone all too well. His own voice had occupied scarce others as a child. He hesitated, torn between pretending he didn’t hear, and paying some of that time back that he was now realising had been time sorely lost. Eventually, the Gryffindor in him won out.

“You won’t be the only one who doesn’t know this stuff you know, I’m sure Hagrid’s told you.”

Harry turned around in his seat, seeming more eager to encourage conversation now his stomach was full of Ice Cream. “But people know me, I’m…I’m, meant to be, famous or…or something.”

Remus’ heart gave a painful twang and he heaved a sigh, leaning forward again, “Harry, Hogwarts is a fantastical place. Perhaps you’ll be the novelty for a little while but trust me when I say it won’t last.” He tried to smile, “It’ll be big and wonderful and full of surprises, enough distraction for any other eleven year old and the other students, well, they’ve got quite enough to be getting on with I can assure you.”

He pictured the castle as he spoke, remembering how it had felt to drift in its shadow on the glittering lake, how by third year they had memorised every corridor and classroom. How quickly places had become _theirs_ : that big tree in the grounds, or the stairwell beneath the Astronomy tower where he and Sirius used to…

Not Sirius. He wasn’t allowed to think about Sirius.

“Point is, Harry,” he charged on, “you’ll make friends who won’t care if you’re famous or not, they’ll just want to know if they can copy your History of Magic notes.”

“History of magic…” He said quietly, eyes sparkling with wonder. Remus swallowed, the urge to leave suddenly replaced by the urge to tell Harry exactly who he was, to explain, to _apologise_ – he wanted him to know everything, why he’d never come to find him in all these years, how it had never meant to have been the Dursley’s who took him in, how Sirius had it all planned out the moment James and Lily named him Godfather, that if worst came to worst they’d rip out the beige insides out of his and Remus’ new flat and make it a home, where they could be a _family…_

“Are…are you okay?”

Remus looked up and met Harry’s eyes and knew by the warmth of his own that they were shining just as the boy’s had at the idea of Hogwarts. “I-“

“Well Merlin’s beard, if it ain’t Remus Lupin.”

Remus’ eyes snapped up to find Hagrid standing there, a mix of surprise and, if he was placing it correctly, suspicion on his face. His voice was strangely absent when he tried to utter a greeting, but luckily for him Harry got there first.

“Oh hi Hagrid, this man was just helping me with my money.”

Remus hurried to his feet, pulling on the hem of his jumper. “Yes, Harry was kind enough to buy me some Ice Cream but I best be going, well...”

He made to move away, hands grasping the inside of his cloak in his panic, but Hagrid reached out and grasped him by the shoulder. “Imagine seein’ you ‘ere of all places, it’s been…what, must’ be years since I last seen yer Remus.” He looked Remus up and down and the smile on his face faltered for a moment. “We tried reachin’ out yer know, on Halloween an’ that, few of us-“

“Well I move around a fair bit.” He made to pull away again but there was no getting out from under Hagrid’s grip. “An owl probably wouldn’t know where to find me.”

“This ‘ere Harry, is Remus Lupin, he was great friends with-“

“Hagrid please I was-“

“Great friends with yer Dad in School.” He finished, looking pleased with himself. Harry looked stupefied, but Remus felt as if somebody had just cast a jelly legs jinx in his direction, “After the matter too if I remember right.”

“You knew my Dad?” Harry said rather mystically, as though he were some eighth wonder of the world. Remus sighed in resignation.

“Well, yes as a matter of fact I did. He was one of…well he was my best friend actually.” He was careful to make that distinction, to leave others un-named but Hagrid didn’t seem to have read his tone very well, and he barrelled on.

“Yer Dad were always good at judgin’ people see, knew a good ‘un when he found ‘em. And Remus ‘ere is a good as it gets.”

“I perhaps wouldn’t go that far…”

“Mind you, perhaps he were a bit too trusting when it came to-“

“Yes, your father was an excellent judge of character Harry.” Remus interjected quickly. Hagrid seemed to have taken the hint at last and finally let go of Remus’ shoulder.

“Right, well, we best be gettin’ back to the station Harry. It was good to see yer Remus.” Hagrid smiled, looking much less enthusiastic than he had a moment ago. Lupin’s hands were starting to ache where they were clenched beneath is cloak.

“Wait a second,” Harry held out a hand to stop Hagrid as he turned, “is there any way I could talk to you again? I don’t know much about my parents you see.”

Remus would have let forth with a tumbling stream of excuses, but he’d just noticed that it wasn’t just his father that the boy carried in his features, his mother too was there, somewhere in the eyes, and the protestations got lost on the way to his mouth.

“Yes.” He said instead. “Why not, any letter addressed to me by name should find me eventually.”

Harry grinned, and held out his hand to be shaken. Remus took his small fingers between his own and nodded his farewell. “Good luck at Hogwarts, Harry.”

Hagrid patted Harry on the back and turned with him towards the Leaky Cauldron. Remus stood and watched while the leftover ice cream melted on the table beside him. A great hole seemed to have opened up in his chest, making it feel like his lung had a puncture and couldn’t keep the air in. It was burned and frayed around the edges and throbbed with a feeling he’d buried deep, deep down for a decade. And where one hole opened, so did another, somewhere in his brain, letting out all of those daydreams a teenager had once had of a dark-haired, witty troublemaker who indulged too much in self-destruction, and the life they would build together when it stopped serving them torment for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. They had been so alike, and yet so different. Sirius Black would have drowned in those daydreams and simmered in grief for the next fortnight but Remus, taking off after Harry and Hagrid, had always been too much of a coward to indulge in such expensive an emotion as nostalgia.

He caught sight of them again lingering outside Quality Quidditch Supplies. With the sun setting fire to the tops of the buildings as it set, the alleyway had become much quieter, and so Harry pressed himself up against the shop’s window, staring gleefully at what Remus knew to be a Nimbus 2000 displayed there. He let out a small chuckle despite himself.

_Sirius would have bought that for him in a heartbeat._

The laughter died in his throat and dribbled back down into that hole in his chest. Taking the wand out of his pocket he took a quick glance around before raising it beneath his cloak and taking a ragged but determined breath.

His wand hand faltered.

So what if Harry wrote him? So what if Remus wrote back? What harm would come of it? _You know what harm,_ said a small voice in the back of his mind, accompanied by short bursts of memory involving Firewhiskey and forked forest pathways strewn with fallen trees, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth…

He gripped his wand even harder and squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, the alley had become a watery haze, and Hagrid and Harry were turning away.

“ _Obliviate”_

He felt the familiar pull of the charm and watched Harry waver for a second in his stride. Remus gasped and turned immediately in the other direction, gripping the front of his jumper as though to keep everything inside his chest. He tried his hardest not to remember that night in August when he’d tried to cast that charm upon himself. It felt like his heart was trying to leak out in each choked sob, just like it had then. He dared not look back to see if Harry had continued to walk; he just kept his legs moving, though they seemed to be doing so quite of their own accord. There was no stemming the flood of memories now, all he could do was guide them in a specific, smoke flavoured direction.

He’d come to Diagon alley for floo powder. He was leaving with the image of Sirius’ grin burning beneath his eyelids.


End file.
